Red Herring
by callensensei
Summary: What really happened when Gilligan locked the castaways in jail


Okay – time for some laughs!

The one episode of Gilligan's Island I cannot stand to watch is "Gilligan Goes Gung Ho," where Gilligan turns into Barney Fife and locks everyone in prison for silly infractions of the law. Phooey on writer Bruce Howard! The self-important little martinet in the red shirt bears little resemblance to the Gilligan we know and love.

So here's my attempt to explain what really happened. It's Gilligan's Island at its silliest, but I still think it makes more sense than what we saw!

**Red Herring**

By Callensensei

The castaways grasped the bamboo bars of the makeshift prison, desperately scanning the skies for any sign of the plane they could hear roaring overhead.

"Oh! The phosphorescent rocks!" exclaimed Mr. Howell.

"Oh, I do hope they haven't misspelled SOS!" cried his wife.

But there was no need to worry about any spelling. The Professor didn't even have the heart to break it to them. "Tell them, Skipper."

The Skipper did. "We didn't have time to put the signal rocks out!"

Bewildered, everyone looked at each other until Mr. Howell finally spoke for them all. "Why not?"

"Because some numbskull put us in jail!" the Skipper bellowed.

As the sound of the plane's engines faded into the distance the castaways turned as one and advanced on the red shirted figure cowering in the far corner of the cave. "Gilligan?" growled the Skipper, towering like a famished grizzly who has just spotted the last tourist in the park. "Is there anything you'd like to say before we pronounce sentence?"

"Just one thing!" said the shaking figure.

"Well, say it fast!"

"Make way for the red ball express!" In a burst of energy he charged through them, crashed through the bamboo bars and kept running. Astonished, the castaways watched his red shirt and white hat disappear into the jungle.

********************

He ran and ran, desperate to reach the lagoon. But even in his fear he remembered to make a quick detour to the thick stand of young bamboo that grew so lush and dense that it made the perfect hiding place. Skidding to a halt, he stood panting for breath for a split second, then parted the tall green stalks to find the little clearing he'd hacked out with his machete. There was the little space of cleared ground, like a green cell in the midst of the foliage. And there on the ground were two coils of rope and a twisted handkerchief, looking as though someone had carelessly thrown them there. There was nothing else.

"_Chyort__ voz'mi_!" he snarled, letting the stalks go with a snap. "Is his real name Houdini?"

A sudden loud, shrilling whine from his pants pocket made him groan and slump in despair. Wearily he fished out his shining gold pocket knife and flipped up the spoon. "Kommandant, you must listen to me. It is not my fault!"

"Whose fault then?" purred a deep, gravelly Russian voice on the other end. "Ve give you second chance. Ve give you brand new communicator/tape-recorder/death ray in place of the one you lost. Cost two million rubles! Ve let you keep Gilligan's face instead of giving you back your own."

"You think that is big favour, _da_?" the spy snorted.

"_Da_! Ve even find you two cosmonauts who meet this Gilligan to tell you vhat you do wrong the first time! And still you fail!"

"I fail to see how two _idiotas_ who make landing halfvay 'round the planet from the place they are meant to make landing tell me anything!"

"Igor Ivanovitch and Ivan Igorovitch tell you plenty!" the Kommandant blasted. "You think you vere on sight-seeing trip? Cost Moscow five million rubles to send you to Siberia to see them! Maybe ve get you cheaper ticket next time, eh? Von vay ticket!"

The spy gulped. "But Kommandant, I have not failed! I have discovered much vital information! The Americans are conducting experiments with phosphorescent rocks! They are using them to signal aircraft!"

"Mmmm." The voice was only a little placated. "These experiments are successful?"

"No, Kommandant! Because of my efforts!" The spy drew himself up proudly. "I sabotaged their plans by locking them all in their own prison! The American plane flew directly overhead but they could not contact it!"

"So…this is vhy you locked them in the jail. But vhy then did you not qvestion them? Obtain further information?"

The spy shrugged helplessly. "I-I intended to, Kommandant, but…"

"But?" The spy could almost see the dangerous smile on the other end.

"But—this communicator/tape-recorder/death ray is defective, Kommandant! It does not meet the standards of glorious Soviet Intelligence!"

"I know_ who_ does not meet the standards of glorious Soviet Intelligence! Vhat happened?"

"Vell…" The spy wanted to crawl into the bamboo himself and hide. "Vhen they vere looking out of the bars at the plane and I tried to pull the communicator/tape-recorder/death ray out of my pants pocket, it…got stuck."

There was a pause on the other end. A very long pause. "You are kidding me, no?"

"No! But vhen I finally managed to pull it out and tried to use the death ray, I found that it no longer functioned. The Americans were coming for me. They vere going to kill me! I had to run!"

The static crackled with the Kommandant's sarcasm. "How enterprising of you! So…vhat of the real Gilligan? You tell me you captured him. You are going to qvestion him, at least?"

The spy looked disconsolately at the stand of bamboo. "He has escaped, Kommandant. It is as though nothing can hold him!"

"Dumbelski! Igor and Ivan told you he is master spy! Even vhen they vere guarding their space capsule he sneaked aboard and svitched their vodka for vater vithout them knowing! He is the cleverest of them all! Vhy do you alvays underestimate him? Now he vill go to his comrades and tell them everything!"

The spy shook his head. "They vill not believe him, Kommandant. They are furious with him. They vill surely kill him."

The Kommandant's sigh could have stirred the palm trees. "And there is the reason you fail. You do not understand him. You do not understand them. Igor and Ivan say over and over again: this Gilligan is gentle, kind, alvays thinking of his comrades. He vould never behave as you did! He is no more bully than you are secret agent!"

"But—"

"And you had no need to run avay. He is their _dorogojj droog_…how do you say in English?"

"Dear friend?" the spy suggested helpfully.

"Precisely!" the Kommandant thundered. "They vould never truly hurt him. They alvays forgive him, no matter vhat he does. You had no need to fear!" There was another pause. "But you vill have!"

"Kommandant?" The spy's Gilligan-blue eyes were wide with apprehension.

"Moscow vill be very interested in your performance in this mission. The submarine vill pick you up at the assigned place at 1900 hours. I vill be waiting." A sinister chuckle floated over the airwaves before the shrill electronic whine cut it off.

The spy glowered at the pocketknife. "Phoeey on you, Kommandant! Maybe I vill not meet you. Maybe I vill take my boat to Havaii and defect! Become a doctor like my mother vanted! And find good plastic surgeon!"

With one last Russian curse, the spy slipped the knife into his pocket and sprinted for the lagoon and his boat.

_Finis_


End file.
